


My Head Is Filled With Love Songs; My Tongue Is Mute

by redbrunja



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrunja/pseuds/redbrunja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a tedious evening at Netherfield. It was a less tedious evening in Darcy's head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Head Is Filled With Love Songs; My Tongue Is Mute

It had been a tedious evening at Netherfield. As dinner had been winding down, Bing had suggested they all watch a movie together - without, of course, suggesting a specific film. This lead to Bing offering up various options, Jane showing exactly equal interest in each, and Caroline watching the byplay with a serene, considering smile, not willing to offer her preferences until she was sure who wanted to watch what and how strongly they felt about it. Darcy knew that Caroline and Bing's distaste for direct conflict stemmed from growing up in a household where a difference of opinion on breakfast foods between their parents could lead to one or both parties sleeping in a hotel that night; that knowledge did not make listening to a passive, directionless debate any less irritating.

Across the table, Lizzie clenched her jaw tighter and tighter. At the discussion's fifteen minute mark, she burst out with, "THE KING'S SPEECH. ANYONE HAVE A PROBLEM WITH COLIN FIRTH?"

She turned to look at Darcy and he felt his shoulders tense as he met her gaze. She turned her head away before he could remind himself to smile.

The movie itself was rather sentimental and very predictable, so he spent most of the evening reviewing the newest project proposals from Pemberley... and watching Lizzie. She was curled up at the end of the couch and watching her bite her lip at dramatic moments and seriously observe the more sentimental scenes was threatening to cause Darcy to re-evaluate the film's merits. She meet his eyes several times, slid further down in her seat, her skirt ruching higher up her thighs.

The film became even less interesting at that juncture.

Darcy realized later, locking his bedroom door and then the door to his en suite bathroom, that he had not actually spoken directly to Lizzie the entire evening. He imagined texting that to Gigi:  _lovely evening. did not speak to Lizzie Bennet._  Her response would likely be something along the lines of, _seriously?!?!?! you need to turn up the Darcy charm!!!!!!! ask her to coffee and/or dinner and/or breakfast. possibly the birth of your future children?!!?!?!?!?!_

Darcy brushed his teeth, thinking about Gigi and Lizzie. He had no doubt that they would like each other tremendously.

In the shower, he replayed the evening, trying to figure out when he should have spoken to Lizzie, and more importantly, what he should have said.

He recalled the way that Lizzie's skirt had caught on the couch, revealing just a touch more of her thighs, the way she bit her bottom lip.

Darcy rapidly revised his imaginings, one hand lightly stroking himself. Bing, Caroline, Jane - gone. Off to dinner. A long dinner. It was just him and Lizzie, together, on the couch. They were watching a movie - any movie, the film wasn't relevant- and he'd just said something witty, something that made Lizzie's eyes go bright.

She'd nudge his leg with her knee, and he'd turn to her, one hand resting on her leg. She'd look startled but pleased, cheeks flushing, and open her legs a little wider. He'd take the invitation, trail his fingers up the inside of her thigh, slowly, so slowly that she'd lose her patience, take his hand and press it against herself. The cotton of her panties would damp already, and she'd shift against his touch, needy. He'd stoke her through her underthings, watching her expression change as he learned how she liked to be touched, as she bit her lip, as she gasped his name. And then he'd hook his fingers around her panties, and she'd lift her hips up, tug her skirt up to her waist, while he pulled her underwear off. (Would they be blue? Vibrant green? He'd love to see her in a set of matching green undergarments, silk and just a touch of lace, her red hair tumbled around her shoulders, acres of pale skin.) She'd shift, reclining back against the armrest of the couch and Darcy would slid his hands under her, lift her to his mouth. She'd be tart against his tongue, gasp when he licked into her, breathing his name like she loved–

Darcy bit the inside of his cheek as he came, leaned against the shower wall, knees weak.

_Brilliant endgame, William_ , he thought to himself, his inner thoughts mocking even as longing coiled in his chest.  _Now to construct a workable plan to get there._  
  



End file.
